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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148124">some good mistakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/pseuds/some_stars'>some_stars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fisting, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dirty Talk, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Pining, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Sexual Fantasy, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, also Ciri is in it a bit but not enough to tag, it's not cheating it's poorly negotiated poly, just the tiniest touch of praise kink, not exclusively but like. primarily. in the explicit parts, post-S01, the Geralt/Yennefer is not the focus at all but it's definitely present, very emotional sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 10:35:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,287</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23148124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/pseuds/some_stars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>If Geralt were allowed to have a favorite part of Jaskier, it would certainly be his hands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>883</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>some good mistakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started life as a fisting PWP and now it's...not that. But also, that. Title from <a href="https://natalieweewrites.com/post/159435295729/i-kneel-into-a-dream-where">this poem</a> by Natalie Wee. Thanks to <a href="https://pixieandthehawk.tumblr.com/">Pixie</a> for some generous encouragement at a crucial point!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Geralt were allowed to have a favorite part of Jaskier, it would certainly be his hands.</p><p>He notices them immediately--though without any particular interest at the time, just catalogues them, slim but more coarse than his clothing would indicate--and finds himself looking at them more and more as they travel together. When Jaskier is playing, of course, as his fingers dart cleverly over the strings. (That first night back in Posada when he takes the stage with his new tune, sounding leagues ahead of his last performance and drawing in coin to match, which is how Geralt convinces himself it's not <i>too</i> terrible of an idea to let him come along for awhile.) Or the way those fingers clutch his pencil as he scribbles new lyrics in his journal by firelight. And twice Geralt has to help him bandage his hands, when he strays too close during a fight and catches something's attention and winds up with a nice bloody set of defensive wounds.</p><p>He's always been...taken, with the hands of the people he fucks. He enjoys the sight of a woman's slim hand wrapped around him, or planted on his chest to hold herself up as she rides; likes equally well a man's calluses and strong knuckles, though it's been a long time since he partook of that.</p><p>He could partake of Jaskier, if he wanted. It only takes a few weeks of traveling together to figure that out. Not that Jaskier is so obvious--which is a surprise in itself--but the first time they bathe together in a river, the sudden smell of wanting is so strong it makes his nostrils flare. He breathes it in as Jaskier finger-combs the worst of the clotted blood from his hair, something Geralt only allows because his shoulders are wrenched and too sore to do it himself. That's when he knows that Jaskier is his, if he wants him.</p><p>And he doesn't <i>not</i> want him, exactly. He's appealing enough physically, in a soft kind of way. And he has no fear of Geralt, although that doesn't speak well for his intelligence--but it might be nice, to fuck someone who wants him back, with no payment involved and no wariness behind their eyes.</p><p>But he doesn't fuck people who he'll have to see again, not anymore. It's too much trouble, invites misunderstandings, and it never ends well. Even if there's no way Jaskier will possibly be sticking around for long. He'll get a good taste of the "adventure" he craves, realize it's mostly camping in the rain, getting drenched in disgusting bodily fluids of monsters, and eating undercooked rabbit over a gloomy fire, and go back to whatever comfortable estate he came from. A few months, at the most, Geralt figures. If he doesn't get himself killed first.</p><p>The thought is more dismal by far than it should be.</p><p>--</p><p>It's over three years, on and off, before Jaskier finally gets truly hurt. There are bumps and scrapes, of course, cuts and bruises and close calls, but something always intervenes--Geralt, or Jaskier's irritating luck, or his occasional streak of good sense surfacing. Geralt actually starts to worry about him less, a little. Which is when--of all the stupid things--the bandits attack them.</p><p>They're too powerful, amped up on some kind of magic, what feels like the work of a hedge witch paid in copper. It doesn't mean Geralt can't beat them handily, in the end, but it's enough to give them the drop on him, which means Jaskier is in the middle of things when the fighting starts. </p><p>If the fool had any sense, he'd lay low, stay still, be as unthreatening as he truly is and let Geralt deal with it. So naturally he tries to help, and the infuriating thing is that he <i>does</i> help, a little. Saves Geralt from a nasty scar, at least, and Geralt will have to thank him later if he doesn't kill him for being so--<i>fucking</i> stupid. Because--</p><p>"Shit," Jaskier gasps, "it <i>hurts,</i>" blood spilling lazily through his fingers to ruin his doublet.</p><p>In the space of a breath Geralt is knelt next to him. "Shut up." He pushes Jaskier's hands aside and presses down hard on the wound.</p><p>The other man has the gall to look put out at this. "I think I have--ah--<i>ah</i>--the right to. To complain..."</p><p>Geralt practically snarls, "Stop <i>talking,</i>" and then, although he doesn't mean to explain, "you're making it worse, just hold still," and for a fucking wonder Jaskier actually does. So there is no sound but his uneven breath, and Geralt's own maddeningly slow heartbeat in his ears, as he applies pressure and waits to see if Jaskier will die, right here in the grass. He stares as the wound, but his eyes flick up to meet Jaskier's and he's caught by the expression there. Fear, some, yes--but a kind of calm as well. Or maybe just...trust. Gods know why.</p><p>The bleeding slows, then stops. The color stops draining from Jaskier's face, leaving him pallid but not deathly. Geralt feels an ounce of the vicious tension seep out of his shoulders, and it leaves him abruptly dizzy.</p><p>"I take it...I'll live, then?" Jaskier says, and winces. He places one bloody hand tenderly atop the wound. </p><p>"Fuck," Geralt says. He doesn't like how it comes out, almost shaking. The calmer Jaskier looks, the wilder he feels, because--he almost died. Almost <i>died.</i> Had the dagger gone an inch deeper, an inch to either side--</p><p>It is at this moment that Geralt realizes he's in a kind of trouble he hasn't known for decades, and a not insignificant amount of it.</p><p>He grabs Jaskier's hand, weaves his fingers between Jaskier's blood-sticky ones, and closes his eyes against the way Jaskier's face softens and opens at that. "You still need a healer."</p><p>Two days later, when the healer has been and gone and Geralt thinks maybe he's gotten away with it, Jaskier settles into their shared bed and rolls to face him--rolls closer than necessary, it's not a particularly small bed--and says, "All right, punch me if I'm wrong, but--I almost died recently, so, uh," and touches his face and kisses him.</p><p>There might still have been a chance to push him away if he hadn't insisted on reminding Geralt of that fact, as though he could possibly have forgotten. Instead he kisses back, hopeless, because he is in <i>trouble.</i></p><p>The way Jaskier stares at him when he pulls back, like he really had expected a punch, is unbearable. Geralt closes his eyes, turns his head, and takes Jaskier's fingers into his mouth, sucking on them, earning himself a choked swear instead of whatever tenderness might have been about to spill out. They're clean now; Geralt wiped the blood off himself when Jaskier was sleeping after the healer had left. But he can still taste a faint tang of it under his nails, echoing the pleasant salt taste of his skin. He can feel the callouses on the tips of Jaskier's fingers, proof that he does work hard, after a fashion.</p><p>"Oh fuck--" Jaskier stutters, "Geralt--gods, that looks good--kiss me again," a little desperately, so Geralt does, and allows matters to proceed as they will.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt wakes first. He moves silently without really intending to, the effect of long habit, and Jaskier doesn't stir until he's fully dressed.</p><p>Now, in the light of morning, the smell of sex hanging thick in the air and Jaskier's slow even breathing at the edge of his hearing, things seem less certain. It's been a long, long time since he slept with someone he felt things for. What things, he couldn't say, but he recognizes the ache of the feeling itself, squawking inside him like a rusted hinge. </p><p>Jaskier mumbles, "Geralt?" and stretches out a still-dozing arm. Then his eyes flutter open. There's a flash of worry, before they focus and land on him.</p><p>"Up already?" he says, and pauses to yawn. "What's the hurry?"</p><p>Geralt opens his mouth. Closes it. Shrugs.</p><p>"Geralt." Jaskier peers at him searchingly. "What is it?"</p><p>"Last night," he says reluctantly. "This sort of thing. It isn't a good idea."</p><p>Jaskier's eyebrows raise. "Oh, no?"</p><p>"It isn't..." He searches for the right word, doesn't find it. "Wise."</p><p>"Right, because I'm historically so terribly concerned about making the <i>wisest</i> choice."</p><p>"My life...it isn't...there isn't room for. This." He makes an abortive gesture to encompass all of the 'this' surrounding them. "I don't want..." Fuck, he's never had so much trouble just <i>talking.</i> </p><p>A shadow falls across Jaskier's eyes. "Oh, well, you know, these things happen sometimes. Close brush with death, activates all that primal wiring, we just lost our heads for a night." He gives Geralt a crooked half-smile. "Brings back fond memories of the time I rescued the Duchess of Fenverney from a fire at her estate. She was terribly grateful."</p><p>Thinking about Jaskier's countless conquests is not helping. Looking at Jaskier's naked form, the knotted shiny pink of the magical scar blazed across his abdomen, is not helping either. How many more will there be? How many until the one that doesn't get a chance to leave a scar?</p><p>He becomes aware that Jaskier is eyeing him carefully. </p><p>"I don't--not want <i>you,</i>" Geralt says slowly, wishing he was anywhere else. "But whatever you want, I can't give it to you." He has nothing to give to anyone, except the ragged, unchanging life of the Path. Jaskier <i>will</i> get tired of it, someday. Anyone would, no matter how much they seem, for reasons entirely beyond Geralt's ken, to like his company. </p><p>"Hmm." Jaskier's fingers drum insistently on the mattress as he seems to digest this. "Tell me this, then," he says at last. "Expectations aside, wanting aside, wisdom, all that aside. Would you like to do it again sometime?"</p><p>He wants to do it again every night. "Yes."</p><p>A smile splits across Jaskier's face. It's easy to believe there's nothing behind it. "That's all I need to hear."</p><p>--</p><p>Things don't change so much, after. Geralt is, or tries to be, grateful. Jaskier leaves again before long, and it's good--it is--that he doesn't just want to stay and follow Geralt around forever. If for no other reason than his own safety, because they won't all be close calls. Geralt even manages to say goodbye, after a fashion--clasping Jaskier's arm with a terse "Until next time," trying not to look in his eyes, looking despite himself, just for a moment. </p><p>Still, the next five months pass slowly, as he sinks back into the silence he used to believe he preferred. When he crosses paths with Jaskier again in Vizima, the wave of relief that breaks across him is a shock, and overwhelming--that he's alive, happy, here.</p><p>Jaskier greets him as if they haven't been apart, and they fuck that night, and stay together for almost a full season.</p><p>It isn't enough. But it's all he can allow.</p><p>--</p><p>Sometimes he comes close to giving in. Demanding more. </p><p>The first time he fucks Jaskier, after he's healed enough, Jaskier makes a positively obscene show of fingering himself first, until Geralt has to tear his hand away, a low growl escaping, and press himself up against his slicked opening, half-ordering and half-begging for permission. Part of him wants to keep watching, though; would be wholly satisfied to stroke himself and watch Jaskier come on his own clever fingers. </p><p>Or  the first time he loses patience and lifts Jaskier up off his feet and places him--less than gently--on the bed, and Jaskier responds not with irritation at being manhandled but with a low helpless noise, jerking his hips and tilting his head back to expose the long pale expanse of his throat. Geralt has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second against the urge, sudden and fierce, to bite him there, to suck and worry at the skin until he leaves a mark. </p><p>He buries his face there instead, closed-mouthed, and breathes in the scent of sweat and lust and a dusty, sunny smell that's just Jaskier's scent, familiar and warm. He thinks he would know it anywhere. He could track Jaskier like a deer through the woods, would if he let himself, would never let him go, would <i>keep</i> him--in bed, by his side--</p><p>Until he died. Or tired of Geralt. One or the other is certain. Neither is acceptable.</p><p>Still, he can't keep from learning everything he can, hungry for every inch, every fact, every drop of information. Like how Jaskier loves to be held down, how it pulls the sweetest sounds out of him when Geralt pins his hips down while sucking him off, or presses a palm hard between his shoulderblades as he fucks him. Or how he <i>talks</i> when he has a cock up his ass, an endless stream of praise and filth that starts out in articulate paragraphs and slowly falls apart as he gets close. </p><p>He learns other things, too. How to make the tea Jaskier carries for when he sings too long and strains his voice. What kind of oil Jaskier uses to rub down his lute in dry weather, and where it can be bought. The little hints he drops occasionally about his youth, and how desperately unhappy it was. </p><p>Despite himself, Geralt collects every bit of knowledge, setting each one in his mind like a jewel in a crown.</p><p>--</p><p>If there's one word no one would use to describe Yennefer of Vengerberg, it's "vulnerable."</p><p>She flirts with him, bathes with him, then clouds his mind for her own purposes; he should find her repulsive. But there's an edge in her eyes that he recognizes, a pull of understanding, a--something that calls him back. Even the fact that she's able to manipulate his mind makes him want her more.</p><p>And he does want her; that's certainly part of it. From the second he lays eyes on her, even distracted as he is, he wants her. But he doesn't truly fall for her until she screams, voice breaking, too big for her body--</p><p>
  <i>I want <b>everything</b>--</i>
</p><p>The power of it, beyond mere ambition and shading into rage, impossible to argue with. That's when he knows he can't lose her, and makes a stupid, stupid wish. </p><p>The sex is fast, and vicious, and good. Afterwards, for a reason he doesn't quite let himself understand, he slips away, leaving her dozing. He finds Jaskier waiting outside, sitting against the stone wall and humming some new tune. When Geralt emerges, he turns his head and smiles.</p><p>"Glad to see you survived a building falling on you," he says brightly. "I suppose I have to thank the witch for that, not that you haven't already thanked her thoroughly."</p><p>The feeling that abruptly suffuses Geralt's gut is not unlike missing a step on a staircase. "Hm," he grunts. Jaskier doesn't seem angry, though, or hurt. He falls in easily with Geralt as they walk back to town and to the stable where Roach is waiting, chatting on about the song he had planned for Geralt's noble death, and how he'll have to change it now. It isn't until nightfall, when they're well out of town, making camp by a low fire, that he brings it up again.</p><p>"So," Jaskier says lightly, "do you fuck every irritating fool you save from almost certain death?"</p><p>Geralt doesn't say anything, but he stops what he's doing and looks at him. Jaskier lies on his bedroll, the picture of casual ease, hands crossed behind his head. </p><p>"Because, you know, I'm just wondering if I'm part of an <i>exclusive</i> club, or..."</p><p>"You sleep with other people," Geralt points out--reasonably, he thinks. After all, Jaskier <i>does.</i> He talks about it all the time.</p><p>Oddly, this seems to throw Jaskier off balance. "I--well, yes. I...do that."</p><p>Geralt waits to see if anything more is forthcoming.</p><p>"Look, I don't...I'm not...I'm not trying to..." He lets out a frustrated sound. "I don't want to keep you from what makes you happy. I just want to know what to expect."</p><p>"What to expect from what?"</p><p>That gets him a heavy sigh. "Far be it from me to try and make you talk about--well, anything...but I'm just trying to figure out if you still want. You know. This. Us. On occasion."</p><p>There comes then an overwhelming softness in his chest that steals his breath. Jaskier is right anyway; he's shit at talking. So he crouches next to Jaskier and takes his face in his hands and kisses him instead.</p><p>Jaskier melts against him and the sour smell of anxiety fades. They kiss, and kiss, and if it weren't for the press of Jaskier's hardening cock against him he might think this is all he wants.</p><p>"I can tell the witch dressed you," Jaskier says as he tugs his shirt off, "it actually fits. Can't fault her taste."</p><p>Geralt huffs impatiently, to avoid thinking about Jaskier and Yennefer at the same time. That only leads to wanting things he can't have. Before long they're both naked, and as Jaskier presses him back against the bedroll, hand clasped tight around his arm, a surge of wanting overtakes him.</p><p>"I want you to fuck me," he blurts out.</p><p>"I--you--<i>yes,</i>" Jaskier says, looking stunned. "Really? Are you sure?"</p><p>He feels like he's falling. "Please..."</p><p>The uncertainty vanishes from Jaskier's eyes, replaced by an equally unbearable tenderness. Geralt rolls over, because if he has to be the object of that look while Jaskier fucks him, he doubts he'll survive it.</p><p>Obligingly, Jaskier drops a kiss on the back of his neck, making him shiver. "All right then. I'm going to get the oil, you stay put."</p><p>When the first finger slides inside him he hisses out a breath of shock at how good it is. He knew it would be--Jaskier certainly likes it well enough--but it's been a long lifetime since he did this, and he'd forgotten how much.</p><p>Jaskier pets his back gently, long slow strokes. "Good?"</p><p>The noise he makes must be affirmative, because Jaskier keeps moving, sliding in and out slowly and then--<i>fuck,</i> crooking his finger to hit something good. Geralt pushes back into it, biting back an embarrassing noise. </p><p>He wants more, and he gets more, the easy stretch of another finger sending lightning down his spine. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it's so <i>good.</i> He knew it would be but he didn't know. He loves Jaskier's hands, wants them everywhere. Around him and on him and in him.</p><p>He wants Jaskier to fuck him like this, and his face burns hot with the realization. Once he imagines it he can't stop--how easily he could press a third finger in, the delicious burn and stretch of four. How it would look as Jaskier eased his hand inside, how open and helpless he'd be, pinned and still hungry, filled up beyond imagining--</p><p>Jaskier pulls his fingers out and Geralt bites his lip hard. He puts the thought out of his mind, focuses on the slow press of Jaskier's cock inside him, rising back to meet it. It shakes a stuttery curse out of him, and it's good, it's good, it's enough. More than enough.</p><p>Afterward, Jaskier curls up behind him, one arm tucked around Geralt's chest. "You."</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"You are...amazing." He presses a hard kiss into Geralt's hair. For a minute Geralt thinks there might be more, but Jaskier doesn't say anything else, and Geralt is silently grateful.</p><p>This hasn't solved anything. He knows that. But maybe it doesn't have to. Maybe they can just...keep going like this.</p><p><i>But for how long?</i> a little voice in his head murmurs. He feels good enough at the moment that it's not too hard to ignore it.</p><p>--</p><p>Every time Geralt crosses paths with Yennefer he loses his mind, and the dragon hunt is no different.</p><p>Jaskier always makes himself scarce when she shows up, and he's thankful for that, because it's complicated enough just dealing with one of them. When the two are together they orbit around him uncomfortably, snapping and sniping at each other like siblings.</p><p>It makes sense, in a way, because they are more different than any two people he's ever known. Jaskier is comfort, safety, ease. Longing, but a familiar one, easy to resist. Yennefer is <i>difficult.</i> Every second with her is some kind of struggle, even the pleasure. It's only in the rarest of moments that she relaxes and lets him actually see some part of her--a jaw-cracking yawn over a meal together, a sleepy open smile after sex--and those moments are addicting. </p><p>It's in pursuit of those glimpses that he finds himself letting things slip, each time--speaking honestly, or at all, when he doesn't intend to. When he knows better. Because she always leaves, before long. She takes whatever he gives her hungrily, and stores it to treasure, and disappears.</p><p>This time, as usual, knowing better doesn't help. He circles her, watches her, chases after her, feeling obsessive but helpless to change his behavior. His only distraction comes when Borch falls from Geralt's grip, taking Tea and Vea with him, and for some hours following all Geralt feels inside is cold.</p><p>It's Jaskier, of course, who tries to comfort him. Yennefer is too much like him, no more able to offer a soft word than Geralt himself would be.</p><p>"You did the best you could," Jaskier says quietly, and Geralt nods--acknowledgement, if not agreement. Jaskier goes on and Geralt listens with half an ear, letting the other man's voice roll over him like a comforting blanket.</p><p>"Do what pleases you," Jaskier says. "While you can." It sounds like a verse.</p><p>"Writing your next song?"</p><p>"Just trying to work out what pleases me," he replies. There's a different tone underneath the words. When Geralt turns to look at him, he's looking away toward the valley, his face sad but otherwise enigmatic. He feels distant, and Geralt feels a pang of alarm.</p><p>He finds himself speaking. "Maybe...maybe after all this is done, we can go to the coast."</p><p>He doesn't know why he says it. He's not sure if he means it. But it would be nice--to go somewhere purely for the pleasure of it, to follow Jaskier for once instead of the other way around. To take a break from death, and killing, and failure. He's not sure if he ever has before.</p><p>"Really?" Jaskier looks taken aback, but delighted. It makes up Geralt's mind for him.</p><p>"Yeah. It's not a bad idea."</p><p>"Of course it's not a bad idea. It's a great idea."</p><p>"I wouldn't go that far," Geralt says, but when Jaskier's hand squeezes his, he doesn't protest.</p><p>When he goes to Yennefer's tent that night, he feels hopeful. He wakes up next to her and thinks maybe he can have this. Have everything, for once.</p><p>Of course it doesn't last.</p><p>
  <i>He already has.</i>
</p><p>This time when Yennefer leaves it isn't in the middle of the night, slipping away from his side. He watches her turn away and knows that it will be the last time--and if it isn't, if the wish keeps twisting them back together against their will, it will at least be the last time that matters. </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jaskier stand from where he's been sitting, undoubtedly listening. Geralt wonders if he's glad. It isn't fair--Jaskier's never tried to keep him from Yennefer. But he hasn't liked it, and why should he? Geralt hasn't been able to make either of them happy.</p><p>Yennefer vanishes over the hilltop and Geralt thinks: <i>This is what it will feel like when <b>he</b> leaves you, too.</i></p><p>The anger in his voice is easy to summon. It's over in less than a minute.</p><p>And if he feels more and more, as the solitary days go by, like he's ripped out some vital piece of himself, well. He'll just have to get used to it.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt doesn't intend to hunt anything on the path north with Ciri, only to travel as quickly as possible. But they have to stop into inns sometimes, and one afternoon on the edge of the mountains there's a middle-aged woman who squares her shoulders and walks up to him with a small purse clenched in her fist.</p><p>"Witcher," she says, with a quick bow. </p><p>He turns his head away. "Not taking any jobs right now." </p><p>"Please." She takes a hitching breath and he hears her steel herself. "It took my daughter. We have no one to help us now, with the men gone to war. Only you."</p><p>A small hand covers his. "Please," Ciri echoes, quietly. He lets out a heavy breath.</p><p>The creature the woman describes sounds like a lamia, which is a small blessing, at least; they're not so tough. It shouldn't be but the work of a night.</p><p>"I'll watch over your girl," the woman says. Ciri can watch over herself, but he nods to her, then says to Ciri, "Don't leave the inn. Stay down here until it clears out, then stay in our room."</p><p>"I will," Ciri says, lifting her chin--then, as if she can't hold it back, "Be careful, Geralt."</p><p>She's afraid. So is he. But the look in her eyes is all lion. </p><p>--</p><p>It's not a lamia. It's five of them--a mother and her cubs. He just has time to hastily throw back a potion when he realizes, and descends into the altered state--focused, hyperaware, all pain at an unreal remove--that he needs to get through this. </p><p>He still barely does. Fighting one lamia, it's easy enough to avoid the venomous stinger. Five at once poses more of a challenge. When it hits him, he realizes, but in a cold and distant way. It's not until he sinks his blade into the final cub, gritting his teeth at the sound of its insectoid death howl, that he staggers back and actually feels the stinging ache of the wound in his back. The venom won't kill him, though it would any other ten men, but it's strong enough to hurt like a devil. More important is the wound it left behind, and the blood loss.</p><p>He has to get back. That's his only thought, and it drives him to march through the pain, step after step after step: he has to get back to Ciri, he has to protect her, has to get her safely to Kaer Morhen, has to. </p><p>He becomes aware, in a vague way, that he's not so much marching as stumbling, now. The lights of the village are in sight; he only has to get a little farther. With that same detached, observing eye, he realizes that he might not make it.</p><p>There's a potion that could help him--stop the bleeding, replenish his strength--but it's in his bag, not on him, so for the moment it might as well be on the other side of the world. For the first time since he found Ciri, Geralt begins to think that he might die. It bothers him considerably more than it used to.</p><p>Focus. Focus. He has to get back to Ciri. One foot in front of the other. He has to take her north. The inn is fifty feet away, thirty, twenty, ten. With the last of his strength, he tugs the heavy wooden door open and steps inside.</p><p>He has time, as he's collapsing, to regret what he looks like--corpse-white skin shot through with black veins, onyx-stone eyes. Not for the fear he'll cause, but for the fact that his last act before abandoning Ciri will probably be to get her run out of town. But the pain is very bad now, and he can feel every slow beat of his heart as it ushers the blood out of his body.</p><p>He hears her scream his name, and then someone else repeats it. A voice he knows. With a great and exhausting effort he turns his head towards the sound. </p><p>"Oh fuck," Jaskier says. "Oh fuck, fuck--hold still, hold still..." He turns to look over his shoulder. "Ci--uh, what's your name?"</p><p>"Fiona..."</p><p>"Fiona, do you know where he keeps his potions?"</p><p>Geralt doesn't hear her answer. He wants to stay awake, because it's become abruptly very important to tell Jaskier--</p><p>Tell him what?</p><p>He's trying to remember, almost has it, when he finally blacks out.</p><p>--</p><p>While he sleeps, he hears singing.</p><p>--</p><p>Consciousness is a sudden struggle upstream, before bursting to the surface. He's in a bed--a proper bed, not a bedroll on the bare ground. He can hear distant chatter, muffled by walls, and someone breathing--two people--and two heartbeats. </p><p>Memory comes rushing back in as he opens his eyes. "Ciri..." He's afraid for her; afraid of what the townsfolk may have done after seeing the state of him. But if he's still here, at the inn, surely she must be too? And if she's here, then--</p><p>His throat is dry and he starts coughing. He can't get it under control under someone presses a mug of water into his hand and tells him to drink. He does so gratefully, and it helps.</p><p>"Better?" Jaskier says.</p><p>Geralt nods and looks at him. Stares, really. It's been over a year. There are things he should say--things he imagined saying, and gave up on getting the chance to say--but they're gone from his mind, at least for the moment.</p><p>Then Ciri says "Geralt," with a sob in her voice, and throws her arms around him, and for a minute he thinks only of her, and the relief that blooms through every inch of him that she's unhurt. "I thought--you almost died," she chokes out, clinging tightly. He pats her back, soothing her as best he knows how, and it seems to work alright.</p><p>"It's okay," he says, and looks back at Jaskier. "I suppose I have you to thank for that."</p><p>"I suppose you do," Jaskier says. His voice is different from how Geralt remembers it. Closed off, a little cold.</p><p>Ciri, a little calmer now, looks back and forth between them. "Jaskier knew you," she says to Geralt. "How?"</p><p>"We used to travel together," Geralt says, at the same time that Jaskier, still in that same voice, says,</p><p>"Oh, we're old friends."</p><p>"That was lucky," Ciri says. "No one wanted to help you until he convinced them."</p><p>Geralt glances at Jaskier, eyebrows raised. For the first time there's a slight crack in the cool facade, and Jaskier shrugs, a little awkward.</p><p>"You looked a fright," he says. "The innkeeper wanted you thrown out the door. Luckily for you, I'm persuasive."</p><p>'A fright' is one way to put it. He can only imagine the fast talking Jaskier must have done, for Geralt to still be occupying the room he paid for and not dead in the street outside.</p><p>Ciri breaks the silence. "I'm hungry," she says. "We've been sitting with you all day and I haven't eaten anything."</p><p>"Well, we can't have that," Jaskier says. "I'll fetch us some food."</p><p>Shortly after, he returns with three plates. Ciri alternates every other bite with a question about the lamias, her fear apparently dissolved now that Geralt is clearly okay. She's so <i>interested</i> in things, and it always surprises him, because he knows what she's been through. Not just the fall of Cintra, the loss of her family, but the weeks on the run that she's only told him about in fragments, brief mentions here and there. He can tell she still hurts, terribly. But there is something bright and hard in her that doesn't seem to wilt no matter how she's suffered.</p><p>"Do lots of monsters have children?" she asks, mouth full of chicken as she gnaws on a drumstick. "I never thought about it."</p><p>"Some do. Some are natural creatures, just not of this world. Others are created from a curse."</p><p>"You know," Jaskier says to her, "the elves say we humans are not of this world either. That we arrived from elsewhere, like the monsters."</p><p>Her eyes widen with fascination, and Geralt watches as Jaskier patiently explains the Conjunction of the Spheres to her. He tells it like a story, and Ciri listens, enraptured.</p><p>Seeing them together makes something ache inside him, some old wanting buried so deep that it's grown over in a tangle of roots. Something that can't be brought forth now without tearing a hundred other things loose and leaving him defenseless, yet part of him wants to pull it into the light anyway.</p><p>More of it must show on his face than he realizes, because when Jaskier glances at him he stops mid-sentence.</p><p>"Ciri," he says, "why don't you go down the hall to my room for a bit?"</p><p>She frowns, a little of that fear returning. "But--"</p><p>"Go on," Geralt says gently. "I'll be fine. We just need...to talk."</p><p>After a bit more coaxing, she leaves reluctantly, taking her half-finished plate with her. The door closes behind her, and Geralt waits.</p><p>"You still owe me a trip to the coast, you know," Jaskier says, back to that same shut-down voice he had when Geralt woke.</p><p>"Jaskier," Geralt says. "I'm sorry."</p><p>"It's been a year. You don't think it's a little late for sorry?"</p><p>"I hope not."</p><p>It only seems to infuriate him further. Geralt watches as he paces, building up a head of steam.</p><p>"You know," he says finally, "finding you here was just an accident. Pure coincidence. It can't be fate, because we're not fated, you and I. We don't get off that easy." He lets out a bitter laugh. "And when I saw you there in the doorway, on the edge of death...I wish at least some part of me had wanted to leave you there to die. But <i>I</i> can't just stop caring about people because it's easier." </p><p>He stops, but Geralt gets the feeling he's not done, so he waits. </p><p>"I know you cared for me. I'm not wrong, am I?"</p><p>"No. You're not."</p><p>His eyes flare with anger. "So then why? Just because she hurt you, so you hurt me?"</p><p>He's thought about saying this. It's still almost too hard to say. "I was afraid you'd leave me."</p><p>For a minute Jaskier just stares at him, mouth opening and then closing again silently. Finally he says, "That's...Geralt, that's <i>stupid.</i>"</p><p>Geralt shrugs. "You...you and Yen both. You always left. One of these days you were bound to stay gone."</p><p>"I always--" Jaskier barks out a bitter laugh. "You idiot. You thrice-damned unbearable <i>moron,</i> you never <i>asked.</i>"</p><p>Oh.</p><p>He doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say. All he can think, over and over, is <i>Oh--</i></p><p>When Jaskier speaks again, his voice is softer. More like the way Geralt remembers him. "You never have, have you? Not with anyone."</p><p>He tried to ask Yennefer to stay, on the mountain. And look how that turned out. He shakes his head mutely.</p><p>Jaskier's hand moves as if to reach out, but he doesn't. He just sits down at the foot of the bed and breathes, and Geralt lets him, and waits.</p><p>"I want to be with you again," he says, after a while. "And I want to stay. But I need to know, Geralt--what's different now? Why are you suddenly--" He gestures vaguely. "You know. Actually <i>talking</i> to me. What changed?"</p><p>It's vital, essential, that he answer correctly. At least he's sure he knows the answer. He's thought about it plenty.</p><p>"Ciri," he says. "When I found her...I loved her. Immediately. And I'm scared of losing her, every day. Every <i>second.</i>" He breathes in, out, slowly. "Just like I was with you."</p><p>He might as well have slapped Jaskier, by the look on his face.</p><p>"I didn't know," Jaskier says, very quietly.</p><p>"You weren't meant to," he mutters, looking away. "But--Ciri. She needed me. So I just had to live with it. And it made me realize that maybe I was...stupid, before."</p><p>Jaskier snorts. "To put it mildly, yeah."</p><p>"So." Geralt drags his eyes back to meet Jaskier's again. "Now. I." His fists clench at his sides, but he forces it out. "Stay with me?"</p><p>And he waits.</p><p>He waits as Jaskier's face shifts, emotions running over it like water from a pump. As he leans forward and crawls up the bed, as he settles himself in Geralt's lap and puts both hands on his chest. As he presses their foreheads together, breathing deep and slow.</p><p>"Oh, darling," he says, "good luck ever getting rid of me."</p><p>The noise that comes out of Geralt is like the sound he makes after a hard punch to the gut. Kissing Jaskier isn't a considered action but a desperate need; he doesn't know how he went this long without it.</p><p>They kiss for a while. Eventually, inevitably, it starts to heat up.</p><p>"Geralt," Jaskier says, against his mouth.</p><p>"Mm?"</p><p>"I've just realized. Now that there's Ciri."</p><p>Geralt draws back a few inches. "Yeah?"</p><p>"We won't be able to have sex."</p><p>They stare at each other, stricken. It's another two weeks travel to Kaer Morhen, where there will be separate rooms that don't cost precious coin.</p><p>"Best make the most of now, then," Jaskier says, and starts taking off his shirt.</p><p>Geralt loses himself a little, in his hunger. It's been <i>so long</i>, and when he buries his face in Jaskier's throat where the dusty sunlight smell is the strongest, his chest hitches a little. </p><p>He holds still there for a minute, feels Jaskier's hand gently combing through his hair, another rubbing small circles on his back. Unreadable thoughts flash through his mind, bright and sharp. </p><p>"Sweetheart," Jaskier is murmuring, and then, when Geralt leans back a little, "good?"</p><p>"Good." He kisses him again. Jaskier bites his lip and Geralt feels his cock start to stir again. "Tell me what you want?"</p><p>Jaskier draws in a sharp breath. "Can I--I want to be in you, please?"</p><p>He doesn't trust his voice, but he nods. The carrier oil in his bag isn't meant for this, but it'll serve. He fetches it, returns to bed, lies down on his back. Jaskier fits himself comfortably between his legs and takes the oil.</p><p>He plants soft kisses on the inside of Geralt's thigh as he works two fingers into him. Geralt once found the softness unbearable, because he was sure it would be taken away. Now, maybe...</p><p>"I want," he says, and it feels like his voice is caught in his throat. Jaskier looks up at him, eyes wide and hungry. "I want this. More. Your hand."</p><p>"My...what, all of it?" His voice is disbelieving, and his fingers still.</p><p>"Yeah. You won't hurt me."</p><p>Jaskier raises his eyebrows. "I would hope that the bar is a little higher than that." </p><p>"I want it. I've wanted it. For a long time, " but somehow the hardest part to say is, "Your hands..."</p><p>He can see Jaskier thinking about it, watches the flush spread across his face and throat as his lips part and he swallows heavily.</p><p>"I...okay. Okay. Um. I'm gonna need more oil."</p><p>He pours it, spilling a spendthrift amount on the sheets, and takes a deep breath. "Promise me you'll tell me if it hurts?"</p><p>"If it hurts in a bad way, yeah," Geralt says. He already feels almost sleepy, dazed with anticipation, and his voice must be convincing because Jaskier's hand starts moving again, slow twists and curls, building a coil of anticipation in his belly as he waits for more. </p><p>It comes, the gentle stretch of another finger, and then after a minute another. As the ridge of knuckle slides into him he lets out a moan that shocks himself, even moreso because he doesn't <i>care.</i></p><p>"Oh <i>fuck,</i>" Jaskier breathes, sounding almost reverent. "Geralt, holy fuck, you look amazing..."</p><p>He looks--how he must <i>look,</i> and the image tears through him, what Jaskier is seeing: his wet hole, stretched obscenely wide around the base of Jaskier's fingers, clenching eagerly. He waits to feel the curl of shame in his stomach, but it doesn't come. Later it will, probably, but for the moment all he can feel is good, and safe, and the <i>need</i> that pours out of his mouth in wordless groans.</p><p>"Shhhh, yeah, I got you," Jaskier murmurs. "Gonna give you a bit more, okay, darling?"</p><p>The fingers inside him twitch a little and the sound that tears out of him is close to a sob. His skin is on fire all over and he <i>wants</i>--</p><p>There's a push, a long second where everything in the world seems to take a breath, and then. He feels the last inch slide in and come firmly to rest against the best place inside, and it's the knowledge as much as the sensation that makes his body go rigid and come, helplessly and hard.</p><p>"--god," Jaskier is muttering, some time later, "oh my god, oh my god, <i>Geralt--</i>" There's a wet slap of flesh on flesh and Geralt forces his eyes open to watch as Jaskier strokes himself furiously. The hand still buried inside him flexes with each motion and he starts to shudder, feeling his cock start to fill up again. </p><p>"Come on," Geralt says. His voice sounds drunk, even to his own ears. "Come on, Jaskier, please. Let me see it. Come on. Come on--"</p><p>Jaskier does, spilling over his own fingers and clenching his fist. Geralt slams himself down on it, chasing another orgasm that's building so fast it almost hurts.</p><p>"Ohhh," Jaskier moans, still panting. "Oh, you greedy little thing, you want another?"</p><p>He nods, hips still working, toes curling. Jaskier sounds ragged, but still so eager.</p><p>"You look <i>incredible,</i>" Jaskier says, hand twisting inside him. "Stretched so wide around my wrist, all wet and needy. Gods, you need it so <i>bad...</i>"</p><p>"Yes," he gasps, almost mindless but wanting the words, more words.</p><p>"Beautiful," Jaskier tells him, and he starts to shake. "You're taking it <i>so</i> well for me, so beautiful, so good, sweetheart, come on and come for me--" </p><p>He cries out and falls apart a second time. When he comes back, it's to Jaskier's weight atop him, clinging to him like a large barnacle, utterly immovable. He's so close his heart seems to beat in Geralt's chest.</p><p>Slowly Geralt wraps his now immensely heavy arms around him. They lie there like that for what feels like a long time.</p><p>"Mm," Jaskier says eventually. "We banished poor Ciri. Ought to let her back in."</p><p>"Oh...god," Geralt says, realizing what they smell like even to a human nose. </p><p>"Yes, it is rather obvious what we've been up to, isn't it?" Jaskier agrees cheerfully. "Although she was going to find out one way or another, because I <i>hope</i> you don't intend for us not to share a bedroll henceforth."</p><p>He watches Jaskier dress languidly, fussing with his collar in the mirror for a moment before giving up on hiding a large red mark Geralt doesn't remember leaving. The smile feels wrong on his face, but he lets it stay there anyway. He isn't foolish enough to think it's just this easy. But maybe...he doesn't know what. Maybe something. Maybe something good.</p><p>"Come on," Jaskier says, smiling back at him, "make yourself decent."</p><p>Geralt gets up, and gets ready.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ciri, in jaskier's room that definitely shares a wall with hers and geralt's: why are all my parental figures so <i>horny</i></p><p>Very Serious WIP number one: down! Follow me on <a href="http://some-stars.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> for Witcher shitposts, occasional updates from Very Serious WIP number two (the kidfic), and just because I very much need people to talk to about this stupid, stupid show. :D? :D? Also if you want to reblog this you can do so <a href="https://some-stars.tumblr.com/post/612611034102054912/some-good-mistakes-somestars-the-witcher-tv">here!</a></p><p>(Also if lamias really exist in the Witcher universe and I got them wrong, please do not tell me. Also also, I know they're not traditionally insectoid, it's fine, just roll with it.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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